


butterfly lovers

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No Mary, POV John Watson, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i will not accept it, is it winter yet, it's 4am what am i doing with my life, it's september and i'm writing a new years fic, shut up Dick Clark is not dead, this is not a fic about butterflies despite the title, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reaches between them and takes Sherlock's hands in his own. "Happy New Year, Sherlock."<br/>This could be it, the beginning of everything. Love built on the surface, being reborn year after year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	butterfly lovers

Christmas with Sherlock Holmes can be a catastrophe. He'd set the table on fire in 2013 and had nothing to say about that other than "Happy Christmas!" as if he'd planned for a blazing table.

For Christmas 2014 he'd sulked in his room, playing [The Butterfly Lovers](https://youtu.be/DK3jRo6aTbQ?t=14m57s) until their guests had left. He'd emerged some twenty minutes after with a crude remark regarding John's date. "Sia prefers emotionally damaged men. Her last catch was a widower with a bursting trust fund. You've no money, I can't imagine what she sees in you but I suppose you fill the damaged partner role perfectly." John had promptly gathered his coat and headed out into the falling snow without gracing it with a reply.

In 2015 Sherlock had soaked a ham in formaldehyde and served it up next to Mrs. Hudson's pudding. He hadn't breathed a word about it until John took a bite and gagged. From that point on he'd been banned from holiday cooking.

Quite frankly, John isn't thrilled to see what's in order for this year.

-

**(Christmas 2016)  
**

The turkey came out beautifully golden and juicy (without the help of Sherlock, mind you), only one batch of rolls was charred, John's date had cancelled, Greg and Molly kissed under the mistletoe for the very first time (then proceeded to leave early, together). And Sherlock had only insulted Anderson five times. All things considered, it had gone splendidly. Suspiciously good, in fact.

-

New Years is an entirely different beast. For every NYE date John has netted, Sherlock might as well carry a sharp blade in which to free the women. As such, John has at last stopped swimming against the tide and remained still. It's not so bad in the deep end, he finds. Sherlock's ranting about New Years kisses and how mundane they are, how forced, how expected - has became a staple in John's life. He'd rather stretch out in his chair and watch his madman dance.

NYE 2016 sets the stage for every blessed new year springing to life afterward.

-

**(NYE 2016)**

Sherlock pulls his legs up in his chair and gestures at a group of people in Times Square, New York. They're excitedly smiling and singing on the television. As a child John had always wanted to see the ball up close. It'd look like a million diamonds in the sun, he was sure of it.

"Look at them all, John. Pathetic. They erect holidays for the sheer pleasure of making poor decisions they'd otherwise never do."

John shrugs. "Some people struggle with the small things and it takes a big event to push them."

Sherlock glances at him, confusion clouding his features. "Like what?"

On the television, a woman has her arm looped into anothers. The blonde thrusts her hand toward the camera to show off a solid white gold band. She excitedly tells America how her girlfriend had proposed tonight. Apparently her girlfriend (now fiancée) wanted to wait until after the ball drop but didn't have the patience.

John nods toward the television. "See those two?"

"What about them?"

"The one on the left proposed to the other tonight. Earlier they said they'd been together for about five years but that one," John points toward the taller woman with jet black curls. "Was afraid to ask for her hand. Something about commitment issues so the blonde did it for her."

Sherlock steeples his hands.

"Suppose she'd rejected her, their images would be plastered on television and every lover thereafter would know of their failings."

Intense. That's Sherlock in one word.

John takes a sip of his tea, now having grown lukewarm. "Is it not worth taking a chance for?," he asks.

He could ask himself the same question. Why hasn't he made a move? Maybe he really is one of many cowardly lovesick fools.

Sherlock gets that look on his face that says he's discovered a cure for misanthropy or he has caught wind of a brand new disease that was recently unearthed. He's having a realization and John sighs. Here comes the rushing melodramatic speech about how love is nothing more than a chemical in the brain blown up into a heart shaped balloon or something equally absurd.

 

It does not happen.

"We should countdown the ball drop this year," Sherlock murmurs and turns the volume up slightly. On the television, Dick Clark points toward the ball and announces the countdown.

10...

"I thought you hated this holiday?"

 

9...

"I'm not watching it for enjoyment, John. It serves a purpose."

 

8...

"Do we have a case? Is that why you're suddenly interested?"

 

7...

"No."

 

6...

"Are you ill?"

 

5...

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Do shut up, John."

 

4...

"Pardon?"

 

3...

"Be quiet for once in your life."

 

2...

John huffs. "You must have me confused with yourself."

 

1...

 

"John."

"What?"

Sherlock unfolds from his chair, drops to his knees and takes John's face in his palms. He smells of tea, John's shampoo and cinnamon from Mrs. Hudson's liquor laced eggnog he'd enjoyed earlier. His lips brush over John's, feather soft and light.

On the television, people cheer loudly and scream _Happy New Year!_ Couples exchange kisses as shiny gold tinted confetti falls around them.

Sherlock pulls back far enough to whisper "Happy 2017, John."

It's a brand new year and John isn't going to be one of those people who are still holding back some five years into the future. He wants to step into the new year palm to palm, lips to skin, with Sherlock.

His skin tingles with a slight alcohol buzz and an addiction he can't quite walk away from. He buries a hand in dark curls and Sherlock's mouth parts in surprise. He tastes of spiced eggnog and bourbon when John slides his tongue inside. With the other hand he latches onto the material on Sherlock's dress-gown, to hold him there. A jaded part of him expects Sherlock to push him away and demand to know what the hell he's doing. He's not sure how he'd even answer that question. Kissing you. Loving you. Forever waiting on you. It's all too much for words.

Instead, Sherlock makes a small needy sound and, without breaking the kiss, trails his hands over biceps hiding in a thick jumper. Over strong knuckles. They find solace along John's waist. Time seems to pass slower around them, the world pauses to allow them this.

After a series of heated desperate kisses, they break apart. Sherlock's lips are spit slick and red in the warming glow of the fireplace. Dark eyes regard him with want, need. A million diamonds, John thinks.

He reaches between them and takes Sherlock's hands in his own. "Happy New Year, Sherlock."

This could be it, the beginning of everything. Love built on the surface, being reborn year after year.

Sherlock tenderly brushes his thumb over John's knuckles and there's more love in the simplicity than there are resolutions birthed at the midnight hour. Maybe, John thinks, the butterfly lovers could be together without the pain of death.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm not going by canon linear timeline here thus the skewed years]
> 
> butterfly lovers is the chinese version of romeo and juliet meets mulan. the woman disguises herself as a man and falls in love but the guy is hopeless, he doesn't see it. a few yrs later he comes to her and realizes Wow she's a woman. naturally he asks her parents Can we please marry and they're just: NO. she's to marry someone else. so they're tragically in love but cannot be together. he dies of heartbreak (does that sound familiar? yes. yes it does). on her wedding day she cannot move past his grave so she begs for it to open up so she can be with him and it does. their spirits turn into a pair of split butterflies, never to part.
> 
> [it's possible that I've gotten some details of that lore incorrect, if so blame wiki. I found it too beautiful to pass up]


End file.
